[private] all of history collapsing in its wake; kagerus

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

 
The weight of the guilt had sat in his chest like stones since their encounter.

His knees had been scarred and bleeding, but it had been nothing to the hurt in her eyes when the fog from the memory had finally cleared—when he had finally been able to break through the agony to realize where he was and what had happened. Realizing that had been worse than the fresh pain of watching the death of everything that he had loved, bearing witness to it as if he had just watched it anew. 

So it’s no surprise that he had eventually split from the group of Rhaegor and Kensa, picking up on her scent. He had politely excused himself when he was sure that they had been safe, glad to give the pair some alone time, and traced it, both hoping to find her and hoping to avoid this for just a little longer.

But he can’t run from this—he knows that. 

So he keeps walking, the stones in his chest weighing heavier and heavier until he finally sees her familiar form, the anglers reaching majestically out into the sky. He takes a steadying breath, wishing once more that he could avoid this, and then straightens his shoulder and makes his way toward her. 

He stops several feet away, giving her a wide berth.

His gold-flecked eyes burn with a thousand things unsaid, and he finds that he wants to explain. He wants to tell her that he was half out of his mind. That he didn’t even know who she was. That she had been a ghost of those he had loved and lost. But—but—it doesn’t matter. Of course, it doesn’t. His intentions don’t cancel out his actions and so he just drops his head, shaking it, the grief raw on his scarred features.

And then the only thing that comes from him is the only thing that should:

“I am sorry, Kagerus. I am so sorry.”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart